I intended to write something fluffy and Outers Family-Oriented for Michiru’s birthday, but somehow I ended up writing this instead.

We Could Pretend

1219 Words

On Michiru’s birthday, Haruka makes a suggestion Michiru knows she should refuse.

Set during or a little before S. Not a particularly happy fic.

Read on AO3 here or under the cut.

Sunlight streamed through the curtains as she opened her eyes. She lie still for a long while, feeling the bruises still forming from the battle the night before.

There was a knock on her door.  “Michiru? Are you awake?”

“Yes, what’s wrong?” She sat up quickly. “Do you sense a Daimon?” She didn’t feel anything, but maybe sleep was clinging to her mind and keeping her from noticing what Haruka sensed. That was why they’d decided to live together, anyway. Easier to keep constant vigilance.

“No, no, don’t worry. Nothing’s happening. Er, nothing bad.” She heard Haruka shuffle her feet against the carpet. “Do you want to come out?”

“One moment.”

She made her bed and padded out to the living room. Haruka stood fidgety paper banner that read “Happy Birthday, Michiru” in big sloppy letters. Haruka’s marker had clearly started to die by the time she’d gotten to the “iru.” A large vase of roses sat next to a modest gift bag on the coffee table.

“It’s, uh, it’s not much, but—“

“Oh, you shouldn’t have done anything.”

“What just because we’re going to… just because of what we are, we can’t have birthdays?” Haruka’s tone started off joking but ended in a real question. Her smile faltered. The sadness in her eyes hurt worse than any Daimon punch.

“No, I only meant… I don’t really celebrate my birthday. And we didn’t do anything for yours. I didn’t, I mean.”

Haruka laughed. “That doesn’t matter. And I already got you something, so you can celebrate it at least this once, right?”

“I suppose,” she said, as if she could ever really say no. Haruka was still easily disappointed, she still knew how to be happy. Michiru was robbing her of that piece by piece, with every battle and every assurance that they would kill whoever they needed to, but she refused to take another piece now.

They sat together on the couch, a little closer than they should have been; Michiru feeling obligated no to move away and Haruka, perhaps, feeling like closeness was another gift Michiru wanted. Michiru longed to regain plausible deniability on that. Every time Haruka did something to oblige her feelings, she cursed herself for confessing. She’d known better. She’d always known better.

“Like I said,” Haruka started, setting the gift bag between them, “It’s not much, but I did my best.”

Michiru pulled apart the tissue paper slowly, ready to fake delight. She’d rarely gotten real gifts over the past several years, but none of them had particularly pleased her. Expensive brushes, a new violin, whatever else her parents bought all were very nice, very useful, but very predictable. Haruka hadn’t gotten her anything like that, but she still expected the worst. She felt almost validated when she unearthed a slender box that surely contained jewelry. A cold gift, and hardly a thoughtful one.

But then she opened it.

It was a silver bracelet, a little clunky and a little gaudy, with four charms clipped on—a seashell, a paintbrush, a music note, and a horse. Michiru stared down at it for a long moment.

“I know it’s not really your style, but you have everything and I… I tried to make it something special.” Haruka’s checks flushed red.

Michiru should have assured her she loved it, she should have immediately plastered a smile on her face like she was trained to do. But she stared for another moment and then asked, “Why the horse?”

Haruka cleared her throat and fixed her eyes somewhere over Michiru’s head. “Well, I heard this story, that Poseidon, ruler of the sea, created horses, and so that’s very you. But horses also race, so.” She let her eyes meet Michiru’s for a split second. “So.”

Michiru felt her chest crest over itself and crash down into her stomach. “Will you put it on me?”

Haruka’s unsteady fingers fidgeted with the clasp for longer than it would have taken Michiru to put it on with one hand. But Michiru didn’t comment. “I forgot to say thank you.”

Haruka looked up at her through her bangs. She dropped one end of the bracelet. “Do you like it?”

“Yes.”

Haruka got the loops to hook together, but she kept looking down. “Michiru?”

“Hm?”

“I know…” She cleared her throat. Her voice stayed rough anyway. “I know we can’t, and I know we don’t deserve anything, with what we’re going to do. But maybe… It’s your birthday. One day.” She traced Michiru’s skin around the bracelet with her finger. “We could pretend.”

“Haruka…” You deserve everything. I’m the one who dragged you into this, I’m the one… But Haruka looked up just then, still so open, still absolutely raw. If Michiru had been a better person, she would have endured hurting Haruka now to save her later. She would have thought about what would happen come tomorrow, how much more it would hurt Haruka, how much more it would chip away at her, how much harder, too, it would be if she needed to abandon Neptune to pain or death to complete their mission.

But Michiru hadn’t been a good enough person to keep Haruka from being a senshi.

And she wasn’t good enough to say no to her now.

Michiru kissed Haruka, both of them soft and hesitant. Haruka laced the fingers of one hand with hers, and put the other on the back of her neck, thumb brushing into her hair. For the first time in years, Michiru felt a real urge to cry.

She broke away and pressed her face into Haruka’s shoulder. She wouldn’t cry, Michiru Kaioh did not cry. And how would Haruka feel, if kissing her made her cry? She shut her eyes tight against the tears and breathed in deep breaths tinged with Haruka’s cologne.

“Are you okay?”

“You…” Michiru stopped. The truth would unravel everything. You’re amazing, and I love you. I will do everything I can to keep the blood on my hands, not yours. But she couldn’t promise anything, and Haruka had to be prepared. Hope was the worst thing she could give her. “You’re my first kiss.” A different truth, easier than a lie.

“Oh. You’re mine, too.” Haruka’s hand moved further into her hair and rubbed gently against the base of her skull. Michiru had had a nanny who did that when she was very young to put her to sleep. “Was I very bad?”

“No. Quite the opposite.” Michiru felt herself smile before she recognized there was a part of her that was happy. She closed her eyes again and let herself pretend that was all there was. Haruka rested her head on top of hers. Michiru hoped she was pretending, too. “We could go somewhere for breakfast.”

“And then we could walk through the park. Like a real date.”

“Something like that,” Michiru said, and already she saw it falling apart.

—-

She slipped the bracelet into her jewelry box before she went to bed, and in the morning she saw Haruka’s eyes fall on her naked wrist. “I have a premonition there will be a Daimon attack today,” Michiru said without a good morning. She fixed her eyes on the ground. She couldn’t watch as she broke Haruka that little bit more. “Today might be the day.”